


A Weapon, Nothing More

by Akiko_Natsuko



Series: Bloody76 Week [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Cyborg76, Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Memories, Prompt: Aftermath, Psychological Manipulation, Repressed Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 06:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21070625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: Jack took a deep breath, pushing the ache away and stopping his wandering thoughts before they could stray into even more dangerous territory. He didn’t need those memories, they were as unnecessary as they were unwanted. After all, a weapon didn’t need memories or a past, and that was all that he was. All that he should ever have been. A weapon, one that had been forged in war, and then honed by the man in front of him, reforged from a broken, misused blade.A sequel to: Let Me Break You





	A Weapon, Nothing More

_So, Jackie…” Jack went rigid, eyes wide at the half-forgotten nickname, as Gabriel stroked his cheek again, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips. It was a weak imitation of the ones they’d once shared, and it stung against the cut that Jack had inflicted on himself, but it was devasting, Jack’s resolve crumbling even as Gabriel pulled back just enough to whisper. “Will you let me break you?”_

_“…Y-yes…”_

****

Amber eyes snapped open as the door to his ‘room’ hissed open. Only two people had the code. Sombra didn’t count, as she let herself in as and when she pleased, not that Jack minded as she was a welcome break to his monotonous existence when he wasn’t in the field. It wasn’t Sombra today though, the heavy footsteps telling him that, even before he lifted his head and blinked as Reaper stepped into the room, a half-remembered fear rising for a second before it was gone as he took in what he was wearing. The other man was dressed for combat, and Jack pushed himself upright at once, falling to attention without need of a command, need building in the pit of his stomach. It had been too long since he had last been allowed out of this small, bare room that was his world most days, and he ached to be out in the field, to be used.

To fight and bleed.

To exist, if only for a minute.

Reaper had forgone his mask this time, and there was something about the ruined face that called to Jack, like a distant memory dancing just out of reach. _Will you let me break you?_ The question was always there, lurking in his thoughts, haunting his sleep and louder now, almost screaming in his ear as he stared at the other man, yet he didn’t know why. Nor did he chase it, even when it seemed to swell, growing louder and louder until he felt as though he could just reach out and there it would be. He didn’t though, because nothing good came of digging into his memories. H had learned that the hard way, body seizing for a moment, an all-too-human ache within the depths of his metal chassis, the echo of claws buried too deep, of his life-threatening to trickle away.

_No!_

He took a deep breath, pushing the ache away and stopping his wandering thoughts before they could stray into even more dangerous territory. He didn’t need those memories, they were as unnecessary as they were unwanted. After all, a weapon didn’t need memories or a past, and that was all that he was. All that he should ever have been. A weapon, one that had been forged in war, and then honed by the man in front of him, reforged from a broken, misused blade. He was still broken, metal creaking as he straightened, the whirl of metal and nanites roaring in his ears, even though he knew that human ears would have been oblivious, and then he blinked, as he found Reaper stood right in front of him. The other man having closed the distance between them during his distraction, moving so quickly that even the enhanced optics that now served as his eyes had been unable to notice the moment.

“Always so eager, aren’t you?” Clawed fingers brushed against his cheek, almost worrying close to his eyes, but he didn’t so much as flinch, welcoming the contact. “So ready to fight for me, to show me how good you can be.” Jack couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the touch, the hand that had crafted him into the weapon he was. Chasing the promise of those words, quivering from the sheer need to be out there. To be useful. “I wonder if you’ll still feel the same way when you find out what the mission is?” Reaper mused, trailing his claws lower, following the line of the plate that ran along Jack’s cheek. “Or will that pesky heart of yours get in the way?”

“Overwatch…” Jack breathed, breaking his silence, and there was the briefest stirring of something in his chest. A pang of longing, of grief, and guilt. He blinked, registering the strange sensation in his eyes, startled to realise that tears had formed before he blinked again and shook his head. “They are just another target,” he said monotonously, wondering why it felt like a lie. _Overwatch. _He knew little of what went on in the outside world these days, beyond the glimpses he was given for missions, but he knew that this was the Overwatch…his Overwatch… no, he wasn’t that man anymore. That man was dead. Gone. He had paid for his crimes. Reaper had made sure of that, before giving him this redemption, this chance to be what he should have always been.

A weapon.

Reaper laughed then, a sharp bark in his ear, almost painfully loud against his sensitive processors but he didn’t let himself flinch, instead tilting his head as Reaper stepped back and studied him. There was an odd expression on the man’s face, one that Jack couldn’t put a name too and he tilted his head, feeling as though he should be able to recognise it. “You really were made for this,” Reaper said finally, apparently finding what he had been looking for and shaking his head. “Perhaps if you had stuck to being a weapon in the first place, none of this mess would have ever happened.” It wasn’t the first time he had said something along those lines, and the bitterness tugged at Jack, regret curling beneath the need, but when Reaper looked at him as though waiting for him to say something, all he could do was blink at him. He didn’t have the words for anything else.

_I am a weapon, nothing more._

“Come,” Reaper snapped, and Jack obediently fell into step behind him. It was liberating to step into the world beyond his room, but he didn’t look left or right as he followed Reaper down the corridor, and there was no thought of escape. No concept of doing anything but following and fighting as ordered.

A dutiful weapon.

**

Jack sat at the back of the transport, barely paying attention as Reaper passed out instructions to the other agents travelling with them. Those instructions weren’t for him. He wasn’t one of them. In fact, most of them had shrunk away at the sight of him, whispering amongst themselves, apparently aware of the enhancements in his ears that meant that he could hear every single word. They were scared, of him, of Reaper, of the mission. His lip curled, and he felt the pull on the old scar that he couldn’t remember getting as he stared at them. They were soldiers, not weapons.

Weak.

_Soldiers are weak Jack,_ Reaper’s voice echoed in his mind, words from a lifetime ago. From when he had first begun to splinter and break, lips against his, shattering him in a way that pain never could. _You were weak, you still are. _Jack lifted a hand to his lips, as though expecting to find something there, but it was all in his mind, one of the few memories that hadn’t been lost during his reforging, and his gaze drifted back to Reaper, watching as the other man paced in front of the useless, mindless soldiers. In front of the men and women, that Jack had once been part of…maybe not in these colours, but he had been just like them, as governed by his thoughts and emotions as they were right now, and his hands curled against the armrest. _They think and feel too much, and they make mistakes. Errors that can destroy people, and cost lives,_ he thought, Reaper’s bitterness bleeding through as he echoed those words that Reaper had left in his memory. Those words that had been drilled into his broken body over long seemingly endless hours, etched into damaged skin and shattered limbs as he was remade from the ground up.

Punishment.

Training.

Reaper had been right, and Jack turned his attention away from the useless, weak cannon fodder in front of him, and instead focused on his own preparations, stretching out mechanical limbs, searching for any sign of stiffness after days sat unmoving in his room. He ran a basic diagnostic on his core systems. Sombra had been in to play with his systems again, and while he wasn’t entirely sure what she had been up to, he trusted that they would be functional. Still, he couldn’t be too careful, as a blunt weapon wouldn’t get very far, especially against an enemy like Overwatch who had been proving to be a thorn in Talon’s side lately. An error message flashed up briefly as he thought about this target, and he froze, but as soon as he tried to pull it up, it disappeared without a trace. Frowning, and flexing his finger, craving the reassuring weight of his gun, he ran a deeper scan, searching for the error but nothing flagged up, and when he came back to himself, it was to find Reaper standing over him.

“Are you prepared for this Jack?”

Jack tilted his head, not fully understanding the question. “All systems are fully functional. Mission parameters?” He asked, blinking when Reaper sighed and looked as though he was about to say something, before the other man straightened, and continued in the emotionless voice that he seemed to adopt around him more and more these days. The fierce anger that had fuelled their conversations during Jack’s training long gone.

“Kill all enemy combatants,” Reaper paused, staring at him as though waiting for something, although with the mask on Jack couldn’t even begin to guess what he wanted. _Kill._ He locked the command into place, almost vibrating in his seat now. It was rare that he was allowed to go all out, and it had been too long, and he flexed his fingers in anticipation _Kill._

_“You killed them all Gabe! What the hell were you thinking?” Jack demanded, finally turning around to face the other man, quivering with anger. Things had already been teetering on a knife-edge, and if news of this latest mission hit the news then everything was going to come crumbling down around their ears, and he slammed his hands down on the desk when he realised that Gabriel wasn’t looking at him. “DAMN IT GABE! At least look at me.”_

“Jack? JACK?” He blinked, jerking back to the present as he felt the sting of pain in his cheek, and he slowly lifted a hand to his face. Pulling it away, he blinked at the blood staining his fingertips, one of the few parts of him that could still bleed normally as another memory stirred. _Damn it, Jack! I was just doing my job!_ He had bled more at that time. Had still been…not this…a soldier. Weak. He stiffened, realising that Reaper was the one who had struck him, claws leaving burning trails across his cheek, and he straightened.

“I understand. Kill all enemy combatants,” he parroted his orders, emotionless once more. _What was that?_ It wasn’t uncommon for him to have flashes, especially in the long hours when he had nothing to do but stare at the four walls of his room, but it had been a long time since it had been that vivid. As though he could reach out, and touch and feel the people in the memory, and it terrified him. He couldn’t let himself remember, he couldn’t let himself be that weak. Not with Reaper watching him, and he closed his eyes, pushing everything else as far down as he could. Burying it deep. _I am not that man. I am a weapon. I am his weapon. _When he opened his eyes again, he was steady again, feeling nothing but anticipation for the fight to come. “Is there anything else?”

“You tell me, Jackie…”

There was some hidden meaning in those words, Jack could hear it, but he didn’t know what it was supposed to mean. But he remembered this, he remembered the tricks and tests, and the pain that had followed every time that he had tried to be more than he was._ What are you? Who are you?_ The pressure of claws against his already broken leg, mangling it beyond repair, as he clung to being someone who should have died a long time ago. He didn’t make that mistake now, not missing a beat as he replied, voice even once more. “I am a weapon.” The words reverberated through him, giving him strength, steadying him, the memories already forgotten as he repeated. “Nothing more.”


End file.
